Bleed Me An Ocean
by Judas Denied
Summary: Featuring sex, alcoholism and rock 'n' roll. Not to mention an obviously mentally disturbed Draco, ultimate wanker Ron, and strange new pubs in Hogsmeade. Evil Lucius and a shockingly compassionate Snape make guest appearances as well. Oh my! HPDM slash
1. Draco's Secrets

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with Harry Potter. This is not written for profit and I obviously make no money. I write simply for my own entertainment and no monetary gain.

**Author's Note:** This is NOT a happy tale, nor is it a "quick fix fic", but know that it will also have a happyish ending. This story is also archived at Adult under the name CerberusSky. That site is currently down and my monster needed a new home, though this rating will have to be lowered here since in all actuality BMAO is NC-17.

**Warnings:** Slash themes, strong adult language,drama, angst, angst and more angst, mental illness, alcoholism, blatant disregard for HBP.Perhaps some others I may've overlooked here.Some may find this fic to be OOC and/or AU. I don't agree too much with the former, but eh . . . on the latter. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. You be the judge.

**Draco's Secrets **

_Road I ride'll be the death of me  
Won't you come along and stay?  
Road I ride is gonna set me free  
It's gonna take me home_

Draco Malfoy listened carefully for any sounds of his parents coming to check on him. Not hearing anything, he sighed gratefully and pulled the bottle of whiskey from its hiding place in his cloak and took a large gulp. Warm fire raced down his throat and curled in his belly. He grinned at the slightly foggy feeling he was starting to get.

He'd been nipping on his bottle all day. He was glad he'd thought to pack several more bottles. Although, the use of the word 'several' was really an understatement. He had a whole trunk filled with nothing but liquor . . . and a couple of extra bottles stuck in other pieces of luggage.

He snorted at the thought, at once amused and disgusted at his 'just in case' supplies. _You know, Draco, you've become quite the slosher. Among other things_, he thought to himself, as he idly fingered a still oozing cut on his upper arm, wincing at the not unpleasant sting.

He was ripped from his musings by a roar from downstairs, "DRACO! Get your ass down here RIGHT NOW," Lucius Malfoy said, "You're going to miss your train and that's one more embarrassment I don't need from you right now."

_Prick_, Draco thought, saying out loud though, "Yes father, I'll be right there."

Taking one more nip from his bottle, he tucked it back in his cloak and began to gather his things.

"Draco, are you feeling ok?" his mother asked as they stood at the platform waiting for the Hogwart's Express.

"As a matter of fact, Mother, I am feeling more than alright," Draco smiled, enjoying his buzz and the now throbbing ache from the cuts on his arms.

"You just seem a bit . . . out of sorts . . .," she said, trailing off, confused at her son's slouching posture against the post.

"Shut up, Mother," he snarled. Fucking buzzkill, who the hell was she to ask him those questions. Like she cared soooo much. He scoffed at her daring to act like a caring parent.

She had totally been AWOL after his father jumped on him for listening to music. Not just any music though, Muggle music. Where was she when his lips were busted and his eyes were black? Not with him, that was for damn sure. She never had been, either. Well, fuck her.

Yet, at the same time, he winced. It hurt to have your parents essentially ignore you unless you did something wrong. All they were interested in was image. The joke was on Lucius though. He hadn't thrown out the cds he had. He'd hidden them and now they rested cozily in his carry on bag with the small Muggle cd player he had bought as well. He couldn't wait to listen to the music that at once stroked his passions and broke his heart.

Once more his musing was interrupted, this time by a stinging slap to the back of his head.

"Stand up straight, you damned disgrace," snapped his father, shaking him roughly just for emphasis.

Draco slid back up the wall and assumed the terribly rigid Malfoy posture, as was expected of him. _Kind of hard to do when you're about three sheets though_, he thought muzzily. But he did it. Better to do that than risk more wrath (and public humiliation).

"You need to go and get on the platform on the other side, son," his mother said, anxious to end the tension there in the sunny Muggle train depot.

"Thas a grand idea, Mother,"Draco replied, flinching as he slurred the first word a little, he knew they couldn't smell it on him, he'd charmed all of his whiskey to be odorless. He also knew they weren't totally daft and if he did that sort of thing too many times, they'd begin to question him. Luckily neither of them seemed to have noticed this time.

Mentally composing himself, he said, "Well, I am going to shove off now. See you winter holidays."

With that he took a lurching start that thankfully became a run and hurtled onto the platform on the other side just as the Hogwart's Express pulled into the station. He skidded to a halt, swaying a bit unsteadily as he did so, nearly toppling over. He just managed to stifle a giggle at what he would've found really amusing. He would've landed right on Ginny Weasley.

"Be careful, Malfoy," she admonished, eyeing him and the strangely glazed look in his pale grey eyes.

"Shut it, Weasley," he mumbled, still trying to contain his drunken giggle. It would've looked most inappropriate the way he'd have landed. Too bad it wasn't Potter. That wouldn't have been funny though, that would've been . . . he chased the thought from his mind and slouched off near the back of the crowd.

Looking around to see if anyone was watching he began to slip his trusty bottle out of its hiding place. He paused for a moment to reconfirm that he was alone, then brought the bottle to his lips, fumbling with the cap for only a split second. Then he drank deeply, greedily swallowing as much of the dark amber liquid as he could in the few seconds he had.

His head now swimming pleasantly once more, he made his way back to the boarding platform to await his turn. He looked around for Crabbe and Goyle, hell, even that skag Pansy Parkinson would do. He was feeling quite social at the moment. However, none of his cronies were in sight. He stopped turning his head every which way then and stared straight ahead. Draco jumped, for right in front of him stood a certain boy with messy black hair.

_Mmm_, Draco thought, _What I wouldn't do to have a handful of that gorgeous hair while its owner's tongue explored my mouth_. He promptly lost himself in the fantasies he'd been having of Potter for close to five years now.

First year, sex had been the farthest thing from his mind. As it had been for the first half of their second year. But after winter holidays that same year he had began to see Harry Potter in a different light. Now he was almost a grown man, sleekly muscled with shoulders much broader than Draco would ever have thought he'd end up with.

"What's on with you, Malfoy?" Harry asked, pulling a drunken Draco out of his fantasies. He was giving Malfoy a look that fell somewhere between disgust and wary curiosity.

Harry had turned around with the intense feeling of being watched. Was he ever shocked to find Draco Malfoy gawking at him with a faraway look in his eyes. Something about that look made Harry gulp, it was predatory in a way, but not the usual Malfoy glare at all. There was something else in those pale grey eyes and the sweat-sheened face (_Sweat, _Harry thought_, Why is he sweating. It's not at all hot out_.)

Before Malfoy had even opened his mouth to answer him, the cluster of students they were grouped into was ushered onto the train. Draco hurriedly shoved past Harry to get onto the train first. Harry couldn't help but notice that Draco staggered a bit, then nearly stumbled on the steps.

_Odd_, was all Harry thought, his curiosity starting to get the better of him. He quickly followed Draco onto the noisy train, still puzzling over the other boy's strange behavior.

An hour or so later Harry was still watching Draco from the corner of his eye. He was making his way back up the aisle from what Harry figured had been about his sixth trip to the loo since they had boarded. He'd made sure to pick a seat near Draco's and was trying hard to focus on his conversation with Ron and Hermione about their respective summers.

Yet, almost to his relief, they had soon lapsed into an argument and pretty much forgot he was there. It gave him a chance to watch Malfoy closer and he knew there was something going on. He looked borderline unkempt for one thing. He had noticed him constantly raking his slender fingers through his usually hurricane-proof hair. Now his hair was sticking up all over his head and flopping across his forehead.

What really struck Harry as strange though was that Malfoy was alone. All of his goons were sitting well away from him. He had noticed them walking by the blonde boy, giving him strange looks or making whispered comments. Only Crabbe and Goyle had tried to sit with Draco and engage him in conversation. After only a few minutes though, he had seen Malfoy's lip curl into a sneer that bordered on a snarl and shoo them away as well.

Now Draco had once again staggered back to his seat and curled himself into a tight ball, as though to take a nap. Harry raised his eyebrows once more, noting that he had been doing that a lot while watching the other boy. Sure enough, Draco closed his eyes and was soon snoring contentedly, oblivious to all that was going on around him.

"What's up with that idgit," Ron asked, distracted from his argument with Hermione for the time being, "I saw him come back from the toilets and the little freak looks totally whacked." He laughed a bit after that statement, glaring at Malfoy with unveiled contempt.

"I dunno," was Harry's reply, "I noticed him when we first boarded. He got on before me and didn't seem at all like himself."

"Ah, well, fuck that little bastard," was Ron's retort, "Maybe he's sick. Oooh maybe he's even dying. That'd be nice."

"Ron! That was really cruel," said Hermione, "I know he's a prat, but really."

"Oh c'mon Hermione, you want him dead almost as much as I do," Ron answered, snorting indignantly.

"Well, I may do, but I would NEVER say it out loud," she sniffed.

Jumping into the conversation, Harry said, "I don't like him any better than you two. But I don't want anyone _dead_. Sheesh you guys."

Once more, Harry turned his attentions to the sleeping boy. As he watched, Draco shifted in his sleep, pulling up the sleeve of his robe a bit. Harry bit back a gasp as he saw the deep cuts on his lower arm, and the older scars that criss-crossed beneath them. Somehow he knew the cuts he could see weren't the only ones he had. _Or the first by the looks of it_, he thought, shocked at what he was looking at.

What the hell was going on! Malfoy was _cutting_ himself now and apparently had been for quite some time. He didn't understand, but he definitely wanted to. He resolved right then and there to get to the bottom of this mystery.

"Geeze, Harry, quit looking at that . . . thing," Ron cut in, "Why are you suddenly so interested in Malfoy?"

"Look at his arm, there's cuts all over it," Harry whispered to his two friends.

"Good. Maybe the shithead will hit an artery one day and we'll be spared another year of his presence," Ron quipped, not even bothering to glance in Malfoy's direction.

Harry noticed that Hermione had not looked either, in fact she had almost grinned at Ron's reply. He was ashamed of them. He never had thought of them as so cold-blooded before. But, in the same breath, he had to admit their reactions were to be expected. Malfoy had treated the three of them horribly from the start. But he couldn't help himself. The blonde boy looked so frail and . . . damaged laying there that Harry couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him.

He rolled his eyes as Ron and Hermione began to argue again. _They should just get a room_, was Harry's thought, he knew they were sleeping together. He smirked at the thought, even as he sighed inwardly. He had to admit, he was lonely and wanted someone of his own. _Maybe one day_, he mused, his eyes unconsciously drifting back to Malfoy.

"Hey guys," he said, cutting in on what was becoming a rather . . . passionate quarrel between Ron and Hermione, "We're almost there, we need to start gathering our things."

His timing, he realized, had been a bit off as he looked out the window. They _were_ there.

"Wassgoinon," a sleepy voice asked.

Harry looked over to Malfoy and saw him groggily looking around as though he didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten there.

"School," was Harry's answer, "Snap out of it Malfoy and get your shit together."

He couldn't help it, he was still staring at the cuts that were visible on Malfoy's arm and Malfoy had noticed. _Shit!_, thought Harry.

"What the fuck are you looking at, Potter," Draco snapped, self consciously tugging his sleeve down.

"Erm . . . nothing. Nothing at all," Harry replied, glancing around nervously, "We need to go though. See you."

* * *

Lyrics quoted at the top are from "Love Song for Bobby Long" by Grayson Capps. 


	2. Dinner and a Show

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with Harry Potter. This is not written for profit and I obviously make no money. I write simply for my own entertainment and no monetary gain.

**Author's Note:** This is NOT a happy tale, nor is it a "quick fix fic", but know that it will also have a happyish ending. This story is also archived at AFF under the name Cerberus Sky. That site is currently down and my monster needed a new home, though the rating will have to be lowered here since in all actuality BMAO is NC-17. I am actually wondering if this chapter alone isn't cause for me to start editing down. Hopefully someone will let me know before they kick me out of here.

**Warnings:** Slash themes, strong adult language,drama, angst, angst and more angst, mental illness, alcoholism, blatant disregard for HBP.Perhaps some others I may've overlooked here.Some may find this fic to be OOC and/or AU. I don't agree too much with the former, but eh . . . on the latter. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. You be the judge.

**Dinner and a Show**

_It is something for  
Every sharp edge that has tunneled through  
My trembling insides,  
Stroking a cold lullaby across my skin_

_(This is retribution  
This is being entrenched  
This is never letting go of stains)  
_

(Later in the Great Hall)

_Goddamnit it all to Hell!_, Draco fumed as he took his seat at the Slytherin table, _Of all the people to have seen that it just HAD to be Potter!_

The last thing Draco had wanted to do was embarrass himself like that. He wondered if Potter had known he was drunk on the way to school and that he hadn't been taking a nap, that in fact, he'd passed out cold. His head was aching and he felt more than a little shaky. What he really wanted to do right now was escape to his dorm, close the curtains, curl up with a bottle and lose himself in oblivion. He knew he wouldn't be bothered by his housemates, as the majority had decided to not speak to him. Apparently, word of his "incident" with the Muggle music was spreading fast. Great friends he had. _Nothing but a bunch of leeches_, he thought sulkily, _Hangers on and nothing more_. Gods he hated his life.

Slouching down in his seat he looked across the room at Potter talking and laughing with his stupid friends. He was gorgeous and Draco's heart gave an involuntary lurch even as his groin stirred. He licked his lips with longing, a desire to taste the dark haired boy's very soul if he could. But he knew he couldn't and that only hurt more.

He admitted to himself then, he was in love with Harry Potter. He knew he was staring, gawking even, but after the realization he'd just had, he didn't really give a damn. He. Loved. Potter. He had known for years that he wanted him, and badly, but coming to the conclusion that it was more than just a crush had left him dumbfounded. Then he noticed a pair of bright green eyes staring back into his own pale grey ones.

_Oh no. He caught me_, Draco groaned inwardly as he quickly looked down at his plate, wishing more than ever that he could go to his room and stay there forever. Just him, a bottle and the small silver dagger he kept with him at all times. There was something in those brilliant green orbs that he couldn't define; he wanted, more than ever, to be able to look into those eyes and be lost, the world be damned. Licking his lips nervously this time, he glanced back up to see Potter still watching him, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"Fuck this," Draco muttered and shoved himself away from the table, unable to take the emerald green gaze. He _had_ to get out of there, and now. Screw Dumbledore's speech and piss on dinner. He stormed out of the dining hall toward the Slytherin dormitory, his face burning and every fiber of his being shaking.

He barreled through the doors of the Great Hall and into the corridor, almost running to the dungeons. Panting heavily, he arrived at the outside of his dorm and a thought dawned on him: he didn't know the password. Slumping unhappily against the wall Draco resigned himself to waiting for his housemates outside. His mind was racing; first Potter had seen the cuts, and then he'd caught him staring at him. Damnit! This was not turning out to be good start of term. Draco was shaking all over now, totally sober for probably the first time in months, and he desperately wanted a drink, hell, he _needed_ one. Unfortunately he had finished the small bottle he had brought with him on the way to school. Frustrated and on the verge of panic, his eyes darted around wildly, looking for something, _anything_ to distract himself.

The longer he sat and stared the more he realized that nothing was working. There weren't even any paintings on the walls by the dungeon and he was forced to stare resignedly at bare stone.

_Damn! Damn! Damnit!_ He had crossed over the line of panic now causing his breath to come in ragged gasps and his hands to shake terribly. None of his thoughts were organized; they just whirled around his head like a tornado. As soon as he would think he'd gotten ahold of one, it would flutter away, back into the screaming whirlwind that had once been his brain

Without the comfortable haze that would come with a drink or two there was only one thing he knew of that could calm his racing heart and force his mind to focus. He truly didn't want to do it, especially out in the open, yet his hand, seemingly of its own volition, was creeping towards the pocket that held the dagger. _No, no, no._ That same simple word repeated over and over again in his mind like a mantra even as his questing fingers closed around the cool metal.

As soon as the solid weight of the dagger was in his hand, he began to relax. His face and body went slack as if boneless as his eyes lost focus and glazed over in unresponsiveness. He was on autopilot. Having no other outlet for his anxiety, he knew this was the way it had to be; the cold steel in his now steadying hand could ease the pain in his heart and he would take that small reprieve; even at the cost of bodily injury.

Draco lifted the dagger slightly, watching the light glint deadly off the blade and a wan smile twitched at his lips. With a quick and practiced motion, he had the right leg of his pants pulled up to the knee to expose the white expanse of his calf. Bringing the blade to his skin and letting the familiar bite settle into his senses, he hissed through clenched teeth. "Worthless", one cut. "Fucking", two cuts, "Nothing", three cuts.

And he smiled.

He could breathe again and his thoughts were starting to order themselves once more as the blood began to slide down his leg. Draco watched it dispassionately, dipping his fingers in the warm, red liquid and raising it to his lips. He had taken to tasting his own blood just a month or so ago, it seemed to offer more proof that he was real, not just some wraith. Before that he had always been content with just cutting, but there was something primal and so very _real_ about having your own blood slide down your throat that he found it added to his sense of calm.

For two years now he had been slicing himself open, trying to determine the nature of his flaw. He still hadn't figured it out, all he knew was he wasn't good enough; for anything. _Or for anyone_, he thought sadly, a face with tousled dark hair and bright green eyes coming to the forefront of his mind.

Just picturing Harry's face sent Draco into one of his favorite fantasies. A fantasy of Harry's fingers digging sharply into his hips hard enough to leave bruises as he rode him furiously. He was beginning to grow hard as Fantasy Harry released his grip on one of Draco's hips and smacked him soundly across the back. He moaned then, rubbing his hard on against the seam of his pants.

"You like me fucking you, Draco? Hmm?" Fantasy Harry's voice rasped quietly as he leaned forward to whisper in his ear, licking then biting the lobe.

"Oh gods! Yessss! Make me yours," cried Draco in the fantasy he was now almost entirely lost in.

"Love me," he whispered aloud in the corridor as Fantasy Harry drove his hard lengthinside of him brutally. At times when this fantasy was allowed to play out, he could almost feel the length of Harry stretching him and he wondered if maybe a pain such as that could replace the pain he lived for with self mutilation.

Voices in the hall around the corner drew him out of his delightful reveries. "Figures," he muttered, quickly yanking his pant leg down over the bloody lacerations on his leg. _At least I can get a drink now, _he mused. He noticed his hands had started to tremble once more. With a heavy sigh, he stood to face his classmates as they began to file into the corridor that led to the dungeons.

* * *

The poem quoted at the beginning is from a piece entitled "Altars" written by yours truly. Yes, yes, I write poetry. Shameful. Heh. 


End file.
